


scent memory

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t remember her. There is something about her, but he attributes that to the fact that he was ordered to kill her, that they fought. He doesn’t think of her and he doesn’t look at her. Until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	scent memory

He doesn’t remember her. There is something about her, but he attributes that to the fact that he was ordered to kill her, that they fought. He doesn’t think of her and he doesn’t look at her. Instead he focuses on Steve and trying to remember who he was. And he does, slowly. His various missions as the Winter Soldier, missions that he sees in a folder that Stark leaves lying around, are blurred and vague. He memorizes the names and faces of those he killed because he needs to make amends, but he doesn’t remember her.

She isn’t around much either, so being curious about her when she does show up isn’t odd. What is odd is how little people know, or rather, how little different people’s stories check out or make sense together. Steve talks about her like she’s a soldier, Sam like a pretty girl, Stark like an assistant, Pepper like a friend. It’s not until Clint shows up that it clears up. All he says is, “She’s a spy. She’s the best at what she does and she’s whatever she wants to be.” 

And that, that makes sense to him. And that should be all. He should stop caring and be able to not be distracted when she comes into a room. She’s gorgeous, so getting distracted by her isn’t that unusual, but this isn’t about that. 

He can’t figure it out.

And then, one day, late at night when the images of what he’s done are particularly vivid behind his eyelids he gives up and goes down to the gym to work out. 

She’s down there dancing. It’s beautiful to watch, and oddly familiar. He doesn’t think he makes a noise and she doesn’t look up, but after only a few moments her voice is ringing out, “I know you’re still adjusting, but you’re being creepy.” 

It surprises a laugh out of him and he straightens and takes a few steps forward, “Would you like to spar?” 

She considers him for a few long moments and he can’t read her face at all, but he can guess that she’s trying to decide if he’s being honest or remembering the last time they fought.

Finally she gives a barely perceptible nod of the head and falls into a balance stance. 

He knows she’s not weak, he’s fought her before and he’s heard stories from the others but he’s still not expecting how quickly she moves and how hard her hits land. 

Her brow wrinkles and she brings him down to the matt, foot catching his ankle, and she’s there in a half second, hand light on his neck. “You’re holding back.” 

He grunts and nods, pushing up as she springs away, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

A single eyebrow arches and he can tell she’s amused, “Then we shouldn’t spar.” 

He nods and tugs at the wrappings on his hands, “Alright. I won’t hold back.” 

Her grin is bright and it makes something relax in his chest. This time they circle each other for long moments, and it feels achingly familiar before she’s lashing out and he’s responding. This bout lasts much longer, but eventually she has him knocked down again, knee hard in the small of his back. And then she’s off him in an instant, bouncing on her feet, “Again?” 

He grins and shakes out his hands, “Again.” 

This time he manages to get a grip on her, metal arm holding her throat and other arm tight around her waist. Her hair is everywhere and getting into his mouth, but it’s the smell he notices. It’s so familiar and he takes a deep breath and feels like he’s been shot. His hands tighten and she jerks against him and he realizes he’s choking her and he drops his arms and backs up, quickly. 

She stands still and rubs at her throat, keeping him in her sight as she slowly circles further away from him, “Bucky?”

Her voice is hoarse and he knows she thinks he’s falling back on conditioning, that he needs reminding of who he is. But she never called him that. Or, the person she reminds him of. It can’t be her, he knows, it was too long ago. But maybe, a daughter. They look so similar and they smell the same and — 

He falls to his knees, clutching his head with his hands and rocking, and then she’s there, hand light on his arm. _“Don’t touch me.”_ Her hands are gone in an instant, but she’s still there, waiting, on her heels. Finally the pounding in his head stops and he looks up at her, lost. 

_“You look so much like her.”_ Her face is expressionless, but he can read the wariness in the light of her eyes.

 _“Who do I look like, Bucky?”_ Her Russian is completely unaccented, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s been speaking it as well. 

He lets out a breath and tries to drop the tension from his shoulders, he’s confused, but he won’t hurt anyone. _“Like my Natalia. But she would never call me that.”_

Her head tilts to the side, curious, and he want nothing more to crush her to him. But it’s not her he wants, not really, it’s who she reminds him of and that’s not fair for anyone. _“She would never call you hers, or she would never call you Bucky?”_

Her face is so familiar, but he has a memory of her dying. He’s holding her and it’s snowing and he thinks he’s been shot too, but she’s bleeding out, a gut wound, mouth bloody. And then they’re dragging her away from him and he’s been injected with something and the last thing he sees before his world goes black is her neck cracking and her body dropping, his name on her lips and hers on his. His voice shakes when he finally speaks. “Bucky.” 

She’s closer then she was a moment ago, and she reaches out a hand to cup the side of his face, and he doesn’t want it, it’s not her, but he can’t help but lean into the caress. _“Fool. I never knew you went by Bucky. So I could only call you James.”_

And he doesn’t care if he’s hallucinating, if she’s lying if she’s somehow read it in his file — he just wants to pretend, for now, and he crushes her to him. Both of them on their knees, tightly chest to chest as he buries his head in her neck and shakes. He knows he’s leaving bruises with his metal arm, but she never cared. And she doesn’t seem to now either. Her hands lightly pet through his hair and she hums, occasionally speaking, sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian, but always the same thing. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here, James.”

Eventually he stills and thinks he can face the truth. He doesn’t pull away, but he leans up so he can meet her eyes, “Natalia.” 

Her smile is bright and her eyes are a little wet, “I didn’t think you’d remember.” 

He rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes for a long moment, “I thought they’d killed you.” 

She shrugs as best she’s able, “Likewise. They shot you when they were tying me down. I didn’t think—“ She shakes her head and stops. 

He waits before reaching out to cup her face with his real hand. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

Her gaze searches his for a few long moments, but she doesn’t look ashamed of her decision, “I thought you had enough to deal with. Remembering Bucky, without having to remember James too.” 

He frowns, “No. You should have told me.” 

The face she makes is sour and she shakes her head again, “No. I shouldn’t have. If it was anyone but Steve who was trying to get you back I might’ve, but he’s your family and I wasn’t going to interfere.” 

He can’t decide now if he agrees, but he purses his lips and acknowledges her point. He would do worse for Steve, and he thinks she might as well. 

Finally she pulls back, and he’s reluctant to let her go, but he’s never forced her to do anything, so he releases her. 

She stands, straightens her pants and reaches out a hand for him. His metal hand fits into her small one and she pulls him to his feet with no noticeable issue. “You need to sleep.” 

He tugs her to him and she goes without protest and he wraps her in his arms again, “I can’t sleep. I keep seeing…”

She nods, and he knows that she understands, that she sees some of it too. “Avoiding it will only make it worse. Come.” And she tugs him after her. And he half expects her to take him to her bed, but instead they wind up in front of his door and he can’t let go of her hand. 

“Will you…Please, Natalia.” 

And she smiles, leans up, and kisses him, and it’s everything he was missing that he didn’t even know was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Let me know if I should've tagged anything I failed to. And it should be noted that I'm beta-less, so if you see anything that's really wrong, please let me know and I'll be happy to fix it!


End file.
